


Down Time

by ScaleyWriter



Series: Thoughts of a Boss [2]
Category: Saints Row
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Inner Dialogue, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-12 00:29:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7913398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScaleyWriter/pseuds/ScaleyWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Johnny spends some time with the boss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down Time

**Author's Note:**

> This is set between SR2 and 3.
> 
> My take on this is that they've never slept together before, this is a best friends becoming closer, but not something that is permanent as I don't actually ship Gat/Boss usually.

Kicking the fridge door shut behind me, I balance bottles of beers in my arm and hastily make my way to the living room before I drop them all. I set them down on the table, pull out a bottle opener from my pocket and crack one open.  
  
Usually I'd be at the main HQ right now, but Pierce had a fondness for parties and I wasn't really in the mood for it.  
  
I wander over to the window and take in the view of Stilwater at night. Right in the heart of the city, I can see everything from this penthouse. Looking to my right, I can see the newest billboard with our branding, our fleur-de-lis. Since we took over Ultor, we've been pushing our image, hard.  
It's strange to think back to a time when we were just a bunch of scruffy gang runarounds. Now look at us. We've got a fucking clothing label, Shaundi's got a dating show, I'm even pushing some damn shade of purple lipstick. Johnny goes along with it, although  I don't think he likes it much.  
  
A sharp knock comes from the door. _The man himself._ I open the door and draw him in with an embrace.  
  
'Hey, what the fuck's that for?' he says, disentangling himself from my hold.  
  
'Nothin'. Just haven't seen you in a while.' I follow him in to where he throws himself on my couch, grabs a beer, prises the cap off with his teeth.  
  
'I got a bottle opener so you didn't have to do that,' I say, shaking my head at him.  
  
He shrugs, takes a look around the room. 'I ain't seen you in a while, cuz you been busy with corporate business,' he says, with air quotes around the last two words.  
  
I shove him up the couch so I can sit down. 'Not all the time. You never answer your phone any more.'  
  
He shrugs again, turns his attention to the television. 'Anything good on?' he says, nodding towards it.  
  
'Usual bullshit,' I say, taking a swig of my beer.  
  
He doesn't seem to want to talk much so we just let the garbage on the television filter through, shifting to a comfier position. We've been friends for so long, it's not unusual to spot us leaning against one another. Sometimes he even puts his arm around me. Shaundi thinks we're fucking, but we're not. Definitely not.  
  
I can't even remember the last time I had sex with someone. I usually find someone in a bar, after a particularly gruelling day at the office. I never sleep with Saints. Ever. Last thing I need is someone shouting their mouth off about how they banged the boss. It complicates things. Undermines me.  
  
The beers are sliding down easily and quickly, and we're both too lazy to get up and get food.  Even ordering something seems like too much. I'm happy here. Johnny's got his arm up on the back of the couch, his hand stroking my hair. He does this sometimes, I think it's a reflex. He'd probably do it to anyone sitting in the same position. My head's against his chest. He's warm and I snuggle into him a bit more. I could easily sleep here. I have, in the past.  
  
The only times we've woken up together have been like this. Minus the crash outs after riotous shindigs where everyone fell asleep on one another. If you're counting those, then I have actually woken up next to Pierce. Non sexually, of course. We both like the comfort of a bed to nurse our hangovers, who knew?  
  
His hand strays from my hair onto my neck, his fingers softly tracing patterns onto my skin. This is unusual. He's not done this before. Where I was dozing before, I suddenly feel wide awake.  
  
'Johnny?' I say, trying to move up so I can see his face. He gently holds me where I am and shushes me. I feel a little pouty at that – I'm still his boss aren't I?  
  
'Are you pouting?' he asks dryly.  
  
'How did you...?'  
  
'I've known you for way too fuckin' long.'  
  
He continues and becomes a little bolder, as his hand slides as far down my neck as he can reach from his position, just past my collar bone. My breath hitches a little. Did I mention it's been a long time since anyone touched me like this?  
  
Maybe he heard me, because he sets down his beer and brings his other hand to my earlobe, flicking it gently, touching the soft skin behind my ear. He sweeps my hair away from my neck, traces my tattoo.  
  
'That one hurt?' he asks, tapping against my skin.  
  
'You tell me, you've got tattoos there too.'  
  
'Nah, none of mine hurt.'  
  
'Bullshit!'  I sit up, turning around to face him. 'There is no way you didn't at least feel a sting.'  
  
'Nope.' He stops me from further indignation by kissing me. I briefly tense at the contact but as his hands come up to twine in my hair, I relax into it. We kiss for what seems like a long time, but in reality probably wasn't.  
  
I break the kiss first, pulling back to see his face, but since he's wearing his shades as usual, I can't tell a damn thing. I tell you, those things drive me nuts. They're prescription and all, but I actually think regular glasses would suit him. He doesn't agree.  
  
'Johnny, what are we doing?' I ask him, sitting back on my haunches.  
  
'We're not doing nothin', yet,' he says, standing up, pulling me up with him. He leads me to my bedroom, which is a damn mess.  
  
'Uh, sorry,  I wasn't expecting company,' I say with embarrassment as I toss a bunch of clothes off the bed into a distant corner of the room.  
  
He looks amused, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed. 'Don't tidy up cuz of me, I know what you're like.'  
  
Johnny is the only, and I mean only, Saint who has made me blush. Hell, he's probably the only person. It's not really part of my image, you know? Doesn't really scream _psychotic murderer_. More like _teenage girl with a crush_.  
  
He puts me out of my misery, comes towards me, takes me in his arms. He's soft, but he's still not a gentleman, his hands on my ass, inching me towards the bed. The mattress hits the back of my knees, which makes me stumble back. He climbs on top of me, his mouth moving down to my neck, my collarbone.  
He's a little rougher this time, his hands on my breasts, pulling my top down. One hand makes its way to my jeans, pulling down the zipper and unsuccessfully trying to push them down. No such luck, these jeans are tight as hell.  
He makes an irritated noise, sits up and uses both hands to drag them off. I wasn't joking when I said they were tight. I help him by lifting my body so he can get them off fully. I take this time to reach for his shirt, unbuttoning it with haste, pulling it down his shoulders. He unbuckles his belt, slides his jeans off too, but we're not even.  
  
Before he attempts to, I reach up and take my top off, discarding it next to me. I don't wear a bra when I'm at home, so that's one less thing to worry about. His mouth finds its way to my breasts, one hand lightly pinching the nipple of one and my breath becomes altogether more audible. I feel myself get more turned on, a tingle running up my thighs, a wet heat forming between them. I press them together and feel a frisson of pleasure run through my body.  
  
I think he knows this too, as the hand that was teasing me now moves now to the apex of my thighs, sliding my underwear to the side, his fingers exploring, stroking. A gasp makes its way out of my mouth, which turns into more of a moan as the strokes turn into something firmer, circling my clit.  
  
His mouth moves from my breast, begins to trail wet kisses down my body until it replaces his fingers. He uses his tongue in such a way that I'm panting before long and soon my hand in his hair, tugging as I'm crying out as I orgasm for the first time in months.  
  
As I'm taking the time to regain my breath, he not-so-delicately relieves me of my underwear and his own become climbing back on top of me, not giving me a chance to say anything before he's inside me.  I wanted to ask whether he'd take his glasses off, but I guess the answer is no.  
  
His movements are slow, deliberate and feel so good I can't help but anchor my teeth on his shoulder. My hands hold onto his back, scratching delicate marks as I open myself to take him fully. I'll just say this: he is definitely not a liar.  
I'm moaning and gasping against him, my legs wrapped around him. His pace quickens, plunging into me harder and faster and I can feel a flush creeping up my chest, onto my face as the pleasurable heat within me begins to tip over the edge and spread throughout my body as I cry out again.  
  
He pulls out of me, turns me over and I place my hands against the wall for better leverage. He's not mild when he enters me this time, he pulls me onto him with a force that is delightfully vigorous and begins to pound my body in a way that only be described as fucking. I'm still sensitive from my orgasm so this one takes even less time to explode within me, moaning loudly with pleasure.  
  
I think it's the noise I'm making that brings his on too, I can feel his hands gripping my hips tightly, but he doesn't make a sound, I can only hear his ragged breath behind me before he collapses.  
  
We both lay there for a while, not saying anything. A sigh comes out of me, borne from exhaustion.  
  
His hand comes down to rest on mine and I'm surprised to feel his fingers lacing with mine.  
  
'You know, Shaundi thinks we're fucking,'  I say, looking at the ceiling.  
  
'Yeah?'  
  
'But we're not.'  
  
He sits up, leaning on his elbow to look at me. 'Then what the hell do you call what we just did?'  
  
'An evening in with your best friend? We shouldn't have, Johnny.'  
  
'I know,' he says, lying back down again, 'But some part of me always wanted to know what you were like in bed. And now I know: loud.'  
  
'Hey, fuck you,' I say indignantly, grabbing my pillow and cuffing him around the head with it.  
  
'Already did, boss.'


End file.
